3 Ways Sam Came Back from Hell and 1 Way He Didn't
by Tyranusfan
Summary: Tag to 5x22, Swan Song. Three different ways Sam might have appeared on the sidewalk outside Lisa's, and one way he did not. Some horror imagery, rated T to be safe.
1. Chapter 1

_I had a few ideas for tags to 5x22, Swan Song, but they were all __different__, so I decided to use them all as chapters. These four chapters are all related, in theme, but are independent of each other, and don't follow any particular order. Each should be viewed as its own short story._

_I own nothing, and reviews are craved. Thanks to geminigrl11 for the super-fast edit!_

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**Three Ways Sam Came Back from Hell and One Way He Didn't**

**I.**

Sam stood there, staring through Lisa's window for a long time before he realized he was actually there. It wasn't a hallucination. His mind wasn't trying to distract him from the tortures of Hell.

He blinked, frowning as he glanced down at himself. He was whole. There were no chains, no demons cutting into him as he struggled helplessly on the rack.

Sam and Adam had been cast aside—consigned to the demons—almost immediately, the vessels no longer needed.

Lucifer and Michael were nowhere in sight. They'd been locked in constant combat from the moment the box slammed shut. Brother against brother. Angel against angel. Neither would ever die.

Hell was Hell, even for angels.

Sam drew a deep breath. No sulfur. No ash. No fire. But, the peace was short-lived. His hands started to shake, no matter how hard he clenched them, and moments later, the rest of his body felt like it was going to rattle itself apart.

He looked back at the house, and he found his brother stood at the window, staring right at him. Their eyes met, and in a flash, Dean was racing out the door.

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Dean was reeling. He'd been eating with Lisa and Ben, trying desperately to put his brother out of his mind. He was miserable—soul-wrenchingly lonely, even with Lisa—but he'd made a promise, and he wouldn't break a promise. Not his last one to Sam, anyway. Sam had saved the world, right after saving Dean's life one last time. Dean could keep a simple promise in return.

But, that had been months ago. Sam was dead. Locked with Lucifer in the Pit.

Sam wasn't supposed to be standing right in front of him. He wasn't supposed to be outside Lisa's house.

_If _this was Sam. Had the plan failed? Had Lucifer found a way out?

Castiel had left one of the angel-killing swords, in case Dean needed it. _You never know when one of these may come in handy_. But, it was in the Impala's trunk. If this _wasn't _Sam, the weapon would do Dean no good there.

His brother's eyes hadn't left his since Dean had spotted him from the window. He didn't see the cold, inhuman malice he'd seen while Lucifer was pummeling him at Stull. These eyes were...confused. Lost. Growing more agitated the closer Dean got.

"Sammy?"

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Dean stopped a half a dozen feet away. Staring at him like he was a ghost. Or worse.

Sam opened his mouth, but had to think. It'd been so long since he'd done anything but scream, he wasn't sure what to do anymore.

Dean was frozen, clearly unsure how to react. "Sammy, is that you?"

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"Dean?" Sam's voice was rough, shaky. He looked at Dean blankly, not moving.

It was Sam. Dean could feel it. Lucifer hadn't escaped, just Sam. Dean stepped forward, intending to scoop his kid brother up in the chick-flick moment to end all chick-flick moments...but Sam stepped back, his confused expression shifting to horror, then to betrayal, and finally hurt.

"You..._what did you do?_ You _promised _me— Dean, you promised you _wouldn't_...."

"Sammy—?"

Sam backed up until he fell against the streetlamp pole, then slid slowly down as his knees buckled. He was talking so fast it was almost gibberish. "If he came back with me...I— I can't— I won't be able to fight him again.... He's too— You shouldn't have...I deserved it...what I did—"

Dean stepped forward and grabbed his brother before he sank all the way to the ground. He needed to calm Sam down before they'd be able to figure anything out. "Hey! Sammy, hey! I didn't do anything. I swear. God, I'm so sorry…I didn't do _anything_. Can you hear me?"

His brother's eyes refocused on his again, and after a tense moment, Sam relaxed into Dean's grasp. Dean pulled him close, until Sam's head was resting on his shoulder.

"I— I don't understand. How could—?"

"I don't know, either, man, but—" Dean broke off, his vision blurring even as a grin spread on his face. "God, Sammy, I missed you so much."

"H-how lo—" Sam choked up, folding in on himself a little. "How—?"

"How long?" Dean supplied. His brother just nodded. Dean could give him that information easily. "Four months and a little over a week."

Sam suddenly tensed, pulling back and staring at Dean with a haunted, disbelieving look. It was a look Dean knew all too well.

It had been a lot longer than four months for Sam. A _lot _longer.

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A sharp noise jarred Dean awake. He blinked a few times, trying to adjust his eyes to the early morning sunlight shining through the blinds in Lisa's den. Sam was sitting up on the couch, rubbing his eyes, panting heavily.

Another nightmare. A bad one, from the looks of it. Sam had already been up four times during the night. Dean had brought him down from the guest room to avoid waking Ben again. The kid was too young to witness stuff like this.

The demons had done a real number on Sam downstairs, from the snippets Dean had heard. He planned on taking it out of their collective hides, too, as soon as Sam was up to speed again. Nobody hurt his brother like this and got away with it. He cleared his throat. "You okay, Sam?"

Sam flinched, startled by Dean's voice—as if he hadn't expected to hear it—and looked over at him. He seemed to think about it before answering. "Yeah."

_Lie_, Dean thought, but he just nodded. He didn't want to push. Sam would talk when he was ready. Dean knew firsthand what it was like to suddenly be alive after Hell. Reality wouldn't make sense for a long time afterward.

Pushing himself off the recliner, he stepped over and grabbed the glass of water he'd placed before dawn off the end table. He sat on the cushion behind Sam, and held out the glass, careful not to touch him. The last time he'd come up on Sam from behind, he'd had to fight his panicked brother off.

_Like a wounded animal_. Dean shook his head. He hadn't been quite as bad as this when Castiel had pulled him out. On the other hand, Lucifer hadn't worn him like a prom dress, either.

_Your Hell is gonna make my tour look like Graceland! You want me to just sit by and do nothing?_

_God…I am so sorry, Sam_…. He should have ignored the promise. Never should have left his little brother to those monsters.

Sam slowly sipped the water, seeming to savor the sensation. "Thank you."

Dean took the glass, gingerly patting Sam on the shoulder. As long as his brother saw the touch coming, he seemed to be okay. Dean frowned. When Sam had first shown up outside, he'd seemed fairly calm, but that quickly degenerated into severe mood swings and he'd been growing worse ever since. Whenever Dean pushed too hard or asked too many questions, Sam freaked.

They would need to take this slowly, but Dean would put his brother back together. He owed him that. "You…wanna talk about it?"

Looking back over his shoulder at Dean, Sam favored him with a slightly baffled look. He turned his head slightly, like he was turning the question over in his mind, trying to solve some puzzle.

"I…I never realized how…_creative_ demons could be." Sam finally said, quietly, an almost sing-song quality to his voice. It gave Dean chills. Sam looked around the room, mood visibly shifting again. "Dean…where are we?"

"Lisa's house," Dean answered. For the fifth time. His brother's brain was scrambled. Sam nodded slowly, mouth forming a faintly humorous OH.

Sam's brow furrowed, and he seemed to draw in on himself for several long minutes. He looked a little more lucid when he turned back to face Dean. "Have…have you seen Adam?"

Dean blinked. That was unexpected. "No."

"He was beside me…on the rack," Sam explained, eyes settling into that thousand yard stare he kept going back to every little while. His voice went down an octave as he spoke, and that scared Dean more than the mood swings. "Vessels get special attention. Gotta find out what makes them _tick_—"

"Sam," Dean interrupted, halting Sam's line of thought. He didn't want to hear where it went. Not yet. "Adam?"

Sam blinked, breaking out of his trance. He looked at Dean with genuine confusion. "He was so scared, Dean. I tried…tried to keep their attention on me, but— They _tore into him_, Dean…he was beside me the whole time, but…then one day he just _vanished_. They didn't know what was happening. Adam was gone…and a minute later…I saw you in the window."

Dean absorbed that. "He got out, too?"

"I guess," Sam shrugged.

Nodding, Dean reached over and squeezed Sam's arm, trying to reassure him. "We'll find him, all right?"

That seemed to make Sam feel better. Dean wished he could say the same.

TBC


	2. Chapter 2

_Thanks for the great responses to Chapter 1. I hope the rest works as well!_

_I own nothing, and reviews are craved. _

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**One Way He Didn't**

**II.**

Dean tried to make something work with Lisa, he really did. He liked her. She liked him. Ben was a riot, exactly like Dean had been at that age. There was a roof over his head. They lived in a quaint, peaceful suburb. Given some time, Dean knew he could settle in, find a job, and with a lot of work, build a new family for himself and Lisa.

None of it was enough, though. Lisa was wonderful. Ben was everything Dean could have wanted in a son.

But, they couldn't fill that empty passenger seat in the Impala.

Everything reminded him of Sam, of what he'd lost. The hole in his life matched the hole in his soul, in his car, in his mind. Sam couldn't be replaced. He couldn't be forgotten. Sam was part of him, and Dean just couldn't let that part go.

_That's one deep, dark __NOTHING__ you got there, Dean. Can't fill it, can you? Not with food...or drink…not even with sex._

Famine had been right. There had been a hole inside him. One that couldn't be filled. But, it had nothing to do with his time in Hell. The hole had been his damaged, flagging relationship with Sam, left in tatters after Ruby and the ill-fated trip to Heaven.

But he and Sam had begun rebuilding that relationship. It wasn't the same; it never could be. They weren't the men they'd once been, before the demons and angels drove a wedge between them. It wasn't the same…it was better. He didn't have an annoying baby brother to protect, or a junior partner in the Winchester hunting team. He'd lost those to Ruby and Hell.

Instead, Dean had found that when he—in his mind—allowed Sam to grow up, he had so much more. An equal. A true partner. A best friend. Sometimes, Dean allowed for the possibility that he'd had that all along and just never realized it. The new _Sam and Dean_ had a shot at surviving the Apocalypse…maybe even winning.

The battle in Stull Cemetery had destroyed all of that. Sam had sacrificed himself to save Dean—hell, save the _world_—and ended up trapped in Hell for his trouble. Sam was gone and Dean was left behind. Alone.

Dean had watched both of his brothers tumble into the abyss. He hadn't known Adam Milligan, not really. If the angels hadn't intervened and dragged Adam into the fight, Dean would never have met him, just the bloodthirsty ghoul that had assumed his identity a year earlier. Now there was no chance of knowing him at all. Michael and Lucifer had destroyed his brothers, the last remnants of his family.

What did a big brother do when his younger brothers were gone? What was his purpose then?

Lisa tried to understand. He'd told her most of the story. She accepted it, mostly because her own supernatural experience from years past helped her believe the fantastic tale. But she couldn't truly comprehend the depths of Dean's loss. No one could.

What was worse, he saw Sam everywhere. Staring at him from reflections in car windows. Out of the corner of his eye when he dropped Ben off at school. In the windows at night when he ate dinner. It was fleeting. The images never lasted more than on split second, but it was driving Dean crazy. How was he supposed to move on? How could he keep the promise he never wanted to make?

He lasted three months. One evening, he put a cooler of beer in the back of the Impala and went driving. The first time he'd been in his baby in four weeks.

"I just need some air. I'll be back."

Lisa nodded, smiled, but she had an odd look on her face.

He ended up in the middle of nowhere, near White River. There wasn't a streetlight for miles, and the sky was so bright with stars—it was dazzling. Dean stretched out on the hood of the Impala and started counting. He was up to three hundred when he glanced to his left. At the cool, empty, black hood.

At first, he didn't know why he couldn't move. Didn't understand why the world seemed to blur together until he couldn't see it. It was only when the first sob escaped his lips that he realized he was crying.

He couldn't do this. He couldn't keep his promise. And that hurt worse than the emptiness.

Once he could control himself, Dean dropped into the driver's seat and started driving. He followed the roads, but wasn't paying any attention to them. He saw the first sign for Indianapolis, and realized that he'd passed Cicero completely.

And he didn't care.

The look on Lisa's face as he had driven off finally made sense to him. She had known he wasn't coming back. On one level, Dean knew that it was a pretty shitty thing to do, leaving her and Ben like this after they'd taken him in, accepted him. He hadn't even said goodbye.

But, then, he'd already failed everyone else in his life. What were two more?

He drove for three hours, before stopping, for some reason, at a church in Bradford. Dean huffed a laugh at the name on the sign. St. Michael's. _Naturally_.

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A lot of churches still left their doors open 24/7, even when it probably wasn't safe anymore. Thieves, vandals and psychos didn't consider churches off limits these days, and many parishes dutifully locked up at night. Dean was glad St. Michael's was one of the holdouts that kept up the old tradition.

He sat on a pew near the back, staring at his surroundings. St. Michael's wasn't the most ornate church he'd ever been in, but it was nice enough. Beautiful even, in its simplicity.

Dean lowered the kneeler and knelt, bowing his head. He didn't know what he wanted to pray for, or who he'd even pray _to_. God didn't seem to care about him, or anything else. Joshua had all but spelled that out for them that day in the Garden.

"Cas…I don't know if you can hear me, but…I can't do this. I— I just want this to be over."

He dropped his head onto the wooden pew between his arms. Maybe Castiel would hear him. Maybe Cas would be willing to end it all for him. Take him to Heaven. Dean was done. He had no options left.

He realized then, far too late, that he'd played the game all wrong. He should have forced himself up on his wobbly legs at Stull and tackled Sam, gone with him into the cage. At least they would have been together.

The scuff of shoes on the tile behind the pew alerted him that someone else had entered. Dean closed his eyes. It was probably a priest, or another late-night traveler. It didn't really matter.

He sensed the other person get close, then felt the wooden pew creak as the newcomer knelt beside him.

_Great_. He finally wanted to be alone, and he couldn't be. He just hoped whoever it was didn't want to talk.

"Heavenly Father, hear my prayer…."

Dean's eyes snapped open.

"For Dean…may he find what he's looking for."

Dean raised his head and stared at the man who'd knelt next to him. Listened to the familiar voice. His eyes had to be playing tricks on him.

"Sammy?"

Sam raised his bowed head, and turned it slowly to look at Dean. "Sorry. Sammy doesn't live here anymore."

A flick of Sam's head, and Dean went flying, catapulted out of the pew. He landed in a heap ten feet away, flat on his face in the center aisle between the rows of seats. He groaned, pushing himself over. Sam rose from the pew and moved toward him.

Dean noticed the eyes this time. Cold. Spiteful. Inhuman. He'd never forget the eyes. "Lucifer…h-how?"

The Fallen angel advanced on him, a lion on the prowl. "Silly rabbit. Some boxes _can't_ be closed. Well, not as well as the first time, anyway."

A twitch of a finger, and Dean went sliding backwards the length of the church, careening into the steps leading up to the altar. He stared in horror as Lucifer sauntered up the aisle, calmly, carefree. "Where's Sam?"

Lucifer paused, stopping a dozen steps away from where Dean lay, and glanced up as if in thought. "_Sam_…." He dragged out the name as if he hadn't heard it in a while. "Ah, yeah. Sam's still in the cage, along with that little blond bastard child. They might have had a chance at climbing out with me, but…I wasn't about to leave the door open _that_ long. They still ask for you, you know? Sometimes. When they can _speak_."

Dean's eyes blurred again, hearing the unspoken words. His brothers were trapped in Hell, suffering, being tortured. Lucifer resumed his slow trek up the aisle, continuing. "I yanked Michael out. Couldn't stand the thought of my big brother being sullied with a substandard vessel. Didn't really expect the kid to explode like that. After we scraped him off the walls, though, there was still enough left to hang on the rack, right next to Sam. They've really gotten to know each other these last few decades. Inside and out."

Dean held out a hand as the Devil got close. "Lucifer…please. Let them go. You can take me, instead. Please!"

"Don't worry, Dean," Lucifer cooed, a shark's grin playing across Sam's face. "You're going to see your brothers very shortly."

Lucifer raised his hand, and Dean was flying through the air again. He landed hard on top of the altar, the air being forced out of his lungs. As he gasped, Lucifer spread his arms wide.

"May dear old Dad accept the sacrifice at my hands…" Lucifer climbed up on the altar, kneeling over Dean, and sighed, throwing him a pitying look. "I told you before, Dean. I win."

Lucifer raised his fist, obviously planning on driving it through Dean's skull.

"Dean?"

Dean gasped, throwing himself back. He lost his balance on the kneeler and ended up sprawled against the pew in a totally undignified manner. His eyes darted up, expecting to see Sam's possessed face sneering down at him, but instead found Castiel's stern gaze.

"I didn't want to wake you, but you were having a nightmare."

Glancing around the church, Dean tried to get his bearings. _Nightmare?_

Cas looked around the church as well, before favoring Dean with a small smile. "You don't pray very often. It…certainly got my attention."

Dean accepted Castiel's outstretched hand, righting himself on the kneeler as he tried to control his ragged breathing. The nightmare had been incredibly real.

"How have you been, Dean?" Cas asked, with that familiar manner that told Dean he already knew.

"Peachy," Dean sneered. "Just living the life, you know? Better than some people we know."

Castiel didn't seem phased by his attitude. "It occurred to me, Dean, that I never told you how sorry I am for your loss. I…wish things were different."

Dean nodded, somewhat mockingly. "Yeah…me too. I wish my little brother wasn't burning in Hell for no reason."

That made the angel frown. "Don't say that, Dean. Sam died trapping Lucifer in his cage. He made his choice and saved the world. He died a hero, Dean…don't take that from him."

His vision was blurring again. Dean closed his eyes and dropped his head back onto the pew. "He brought you back, Cas. _Twice_. He let me come back after I spent ten years down there proving how much I didn't deserve it. Why not Sam?"

There was a pause, so long Dean thought the angel might have left. "I don't know. I wish I had some answers for you. Would it help if I said that everything happens for a reason?"

Dean sighed wearily. "Not really, no."

"Then, I don't know what to say."

"Don't say anything, then," Dean muttered. "I…I'm just gonna sit here for a while."

Castiel dropped to his knees on the kneeler, beside Dean. "I will as well. I will pray for Sam. I…owe him that much, at least."

TBC


	3. Chapter 3

_I had a LOT of fun writing this third one. So much so, that I will be expanding it, as a separate story all on its own. _

_I own nothing, and reviews are craved. _

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**III.**

Heaven was different for everybody.

In some small part of Sam's mind, when the pain receded for a few precious seconds or the demons were in between tortures, he could remember that. Ash explained it once.

Hell, as it turned out, worked in a very similar fashion. Oh, it wasn't an exact parallel. There were some parts of Perdition that were the same for everyone. The chains pulling at your soul, threatening to rend it asunder any second. The screams that echoed everywhere, a constant soundtrack that you couldn't tune out and never decreased in volume. The ash in the air. The heat that wrung all the moisture from your body. All that was shared by all the souls in the Pit. Human, demon, angel, it didn't matter.

The chains formed _the rack_. It wasn't some wooden frame like Sam had seen in movies and books. The rack was enormous, stretching as far as the eyes could see, when they could see. It was three-dimensional. Or maybe four- or five-dimensional. Sam hadn't been able to spare much thought on that, yet. It defied what he thought of as reality, for certain. A huge web of rusty iron, dotted with souls, crawling with demons and creatures that hadn't been on Earth in billions of years.

And some that had _never_ been on Earth.

The status, the _importance_, of a soul determined where it was on the rack. The more interested the demons were in someone, the lower they went.

Lucifer's cage was at the very bottom of the Pit. If there was such a thing. Paradoxically, despite how unbearably _hot_ it was, the lowest section near the cage was unbearably cold-hot and cold at the same time. So cold it burned. Sam supposed there was irony in that somewhere, but the agony didn't let him dwell on such contradictions for long.

_Most people think I burn hot. It's actually quite the opposite_….

Lucifer and Michael had shed their vessels almost as soon as they realized what had happened to them, when the shock of falling into the cage wore off. Sam and Adam were tossed aside, no longer needed. They were instantly caught in the web-like chains of the rack. Everyone was when they first arrived.

There was irony there, too. Sam hadn't really gotten to know his half-brother in life. Events had kept them separate, denied them that luxury. Now, on the rack in Hell, they hung beside each other for eternity. As their tormentors hacked, cut, burned, and peeled, Sam and Adam would get to know each other intimately. Inside and out.

Sam's treachery cost him dearly, Lucifer set upon him almost immediately, to show him the horrible depths of his error, but Michael went after his Fallen younger brother with a vengeance.

The battle dance that ensued was torture in and of itself. Reality's rules didn't apply, so Sam and Adam could clearly see what the two archangels really looked like. They were beautiful. And horrible. The sight of them burned out Sam and Adam's eyes, the voices burst their eardrums. But, Hell was Hell. The organs regenerated, and exploded again. Over and over, whenever the dueling angels were close.

Lucifer and Michael, for their part, virtually ignored the humans after that. Michael's rage could be felt everywhere. In the air. In the very fabric of the torturous existence around them. He lashed out at the Devil with murderous force, and Lucifer returned it equally. The only comparison in Sam's limited perception was nuclear war. Up close and personal. Each blow traded released staggering amounts of energy that destroyed anything and everything around them. Demons, souls, the rack, the Pit itself.

Then it all came back. Death—escape—was not allowed. Only the cage survived the carnage. Nothing could destroy _it_.

It was into that chaos that the demons came. Some to watch the fight. Some to gloat over Lucifer's failure—jealousy was rampant among their number. Not all of them rooted for their so-called master. Others came for Sam and Adam. Those were the pupils of Alastair, of whom Dean had once been a member. They strived to outdo their teacher. Some because they wanted his place as Grand Inquisitor. Some…because they hated that Dean had been better at their trade than they were, and it was as close to payback as they would ever get.

Sam and Adam's very natures were a curse in Hell. They were vessels.

Vessels were one of the universe's great mysteries. Or so a demon called Uphir told Sam. No one knew exactly what made vessels work, why they could contain beings as potent as angels when others could not. The secret was locked in human genes, that much was known. Uphir fancied himself a physician, and decided that he personally would discover the key to unlocking the mystery. He explored—his word, _explored_; Sam called it _vivisected_—every inch of Sam and Adam's bodies down to the molecule, looking for what made them so _special_.

When he had a few precious seconds, Sam wondered if his old biology teacher knew how painful it was to have your DNA cut open and pulled apart.

That was the other problem, that they retained their physical bodies. Sam hadn't given much thought to the more obscure nuances of his plan. He'd simply assumed that he would die falling into the cage, and that his soul, like Dean's before it, would end up in Hell. Sobering as that prospect was, it was nowhere near as horrific as reality turned out to be.

Sam was in Hell. Still in his body. A body that couldn't die, no matter how much he prayed it would.

And Adam was, too. Sam couldn't have foreseen that. Wouldn't have considered that Michael would be so desperate to follow The Plan that he would try to stop Sam and be pulled into the Pit—and drag Sam's unfortunate little brother with them.

Lucifer and Michael soon forgot about their now worthless vessels, determined more than ever to best each other, prove their righteousness and superiority. They fought and fought, locked in endless combat. Their attacks and counterattacks shook the foundations of Hell itself, but they didn't notice. Their fight would last for eternity.

Which left Sam and Adam to the demons.

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Sam had been screaming so long that he didn't understand _not_ screaming. Uphir and his entourage built games out of screams. They turned Sam's body into a musical instrument, playing it in competition against Adam's. They screamed in unison. They screamed in sequence. They screamed in counterpoint. Uphir was fascinated with the harmonics, and experimented with their bodies, trying to find some elusive, perfect pitch.

In life, Sam had an incredible mental clock. Dean had always been impressed with it. Even blindfolded, Sam could time the movements of a car, the turns and stops, and later retrace the route perfectly on a map. It helped make him an excellent tracker.

In Hell, that clock worked better than ever. Not that Sam wanted it to. Of all the things he might have left behind on Earth, that should have been one of them. Sam felt the passing of time, measured incessantly as the blades sliced his flesh, as the claws tore at his organs, as the liquid fire rushed through his veins.

Five years, ten months, fourteen days and four hours since he fell into the Pit.

Eleven years, five months, two days, and fifteen hours.

Nineteen years, one month, ten days, and twenty-three hours.

_Please God, make it stop_.

Worse than Sam's bitter relationship with time, was the _hole_. Something had been torn out of him as he fell into the cage. Ripped away suddenly, mercilessly. He felt its absence every second. A gap inside him, an abyss of loneliness and despair that swallowed him whole.

It was not Hell's doing. The Pit was an amazing creation. Pain, fear, unquenchable need and despair were common things there, the currency of the land. But, what Sam felt was so much worse. A piece of him had been ripped away, and no matter how hard he tried, he couldn't call it back.

He'd felt it before. It took him a long time to remember, but the hole was familiar. Sam had almost drowned in that same emptiness when Dean had died. The hole _was_ Dean, or rather, the place Dean occupied in Sam's soul. He tried to fill it that terrible summer, so long ago. Revenge, hatred, power, Ruby had been a means to those ends. But, the hole could not be filled, not by vengeance, not by demon blood.

Nor, as Sam realized on the rack, could it be filled by pain. The demons tried their best. They inflicted agonies beyond description, heaped horrors of all kinds onto him, but the dark, bottomless emptiness in his soul was so much worse. The demons' worst were only a drop in that bucket.

Sam missed his brother _so damned much_.

He'd take the torment, the hellish, inhuman sights that assaulted his eyes continuously. He'd take all of that, if he could just have one more moment with his brother.

"Dean!" Sam cried out, not caring how pathetic it sounded. "_Dean_, _please_!"

The demons, at first, thought he was seeking rescue, or mercy, but they were wrong. They stepped up their efforts, unknowingly doing their best to fill that agonizing hole in the center of Sam. In the face of it all, being torn into from without and eaten away from within, Sam did the only thing he could.

He begged them for more.

He begged, he pleaded, he made _suggestions_. The demons were shocked, but they didn't understand. Sam would do anything to fill the emptiness left by what he'd lost.

Eventually, the demons simply got bored. Adam wasn't particularly important now that he wasn't needed as Michael's vessel. There was no enjoyment for them if Sam _wanted _them to hurt him. By his thirtieth year, all but one had given up and moved on. Only Uphir remained, eternally committed to deciphering the mystery of the vessel.

The lessening of the constant torture gave Sam more time to think.

That was the worst Hell of all.

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Thirty-eight years, seven months, twenty-one days, and thirteen hours had passed since he fell into the Pit.

They didn't need him to break the way they had needed Dean to. No one offered him anything, let alone any chance to leave the rack and join them. Except for Uphir—his self-appointed personal torturer—the demons had completely lost interest in him, just as Lucifer and Michael had thirty-seven and a half years earlier.

Uphir was patient—a scientist, in his own way. He told Sam that he'd once been an alchemist, in the old world. The demon talked a lot, while Sam screamed. He'd sold his soul to Lilith herself, eons ago, and with his special skills had been tapped by Alastair not long after.

"We don't get many vessels," he explained, drilling into Sam's right femur. He had said something about bone marrow the day before, and was getting around to his latest experiment. "That's probably why we have learned so little about them."

Sam ignored him, busy trying to remember something about Dean. It was just beyond his mind's grasp. The memories were there, buried under memories of torment and fire; Sam just needed to find them.

He'd grown used to the agony. Now that only one demon worked with him anymore, it was easier to assert himself, control his thoughts. Uphir's attention was split between Sam and Adam these days, which meant that when one was under the razor—or the drill, the saw, whatever implement was being used—the other had something of a break, so long as the physician's tests only involved one of them at a time.

Even breathing was painful in the Pit. Mere _existence _therewas an agony all to itself, so it truly wasn't accurate to call anything "a break." But, any port in a storm, as someone once said.

"Y-you're hum-humming again," Adam said quietly, panting around the needles piercing his lungs. He sounded faintly annoyed.

With a lot of effort, Sam rolled his head over to look at his brother. The younger man looked terrible, with his clothes in tatters, his chest cracked open and peeled back, but there was a very Dean-like smirk on his face, as he blinked tiredly at Sam. Sam mustered a faint, bloody grin around the jolts of agony shooting up his leg into his torso. "Sorry. What w-was it this time?"

Uphir ignored them, going about his work.

"Ozz—Ozzie Osborne, I th-think..."

"Oh. Yeah, Dean and I drove all n-night to see him once…."

"T-tell me ab-about it." Adam mumbled, his eyes slipping shut.

Sam frowned. It was so hard to think. "It's a p-pretty lame story. You'd think—"

"Sam," Adam bit out, turning to look him in the eye. "As l-long as you k-keep talking, I can remember that there's better th-things than _this_. You know?"

Oblivious to the conversation, Uphir peeled back the skin of Sam's right thigh, and started carving more working space out of the muscles there. The drill went deeper, slowly piercing the thick bone. Sam fought down the scream. He was close to remembering that Ozzie concert—and Dean—and wanted to get at least a glimpse of the memory before he sank back into the agony.

Sam clenched his teeth against the pain, and forced the words out. "We w-were in Ca-California-AHHH—"

The drill reached its destination just as the images formed in his mind. Sam screamed as Uphir started his newest "experiment." It was just as well; the pleasant memory of Dean probably would have hurt him worse.

00000

Forty years, six months, twelve days and four hours.

Sam coughed weakly. Uphir had removed the vice, and his body had fixed itself, but his ribs still felt crushed, and blood pooled in his mouth. The demon was in between tests, and had been muttering something about needing a few tools that he didn't have with him as he moved away.

To his left, Adam groaned. Uphir had forced something thick and vile down their throats before leaving, and whatever it was boiled their blood, seized their muscles and fried their nerve endings.

When Uphir was out of earshot, Sam cleared his throat. "A-Adam?"

His brother wheezed, lost in the same pain that swirled through Sam's arteries and muscles. "Yeah?"

"I'm sorry."

"For w-what?"

"Dragging you…into _this_."

"Wasn't—Wasn't your fault," Adam choked out. "I never should have said yes to M-Michael."

Sam sighed. "Can't t-trust those damned angels…."

Adam actually managed to huff out a quiet laugh. "Yeah. Who knew?"

Before they could say anything else, a strange stillness fell over them. The screams of tortured souls quieted, finally, and the pain…was gone. Oh, the burn of the air and the oppressive heat was still there, but whatever Uphir had done to them before stepping away…simply _stopped_. Sam could think straight, see past the red haze that always clouded his vision. For the first time in years, he could see their surroundings clearly.

The rack still stretched into infinity on all sides, but now he could discern something else. Pillars of fire flickered in the distance, crossed periodically by horizontal rings of flame. Sam blinked when he realized what it looked like. A birdcage. An enormous, fiery birdcage.

That didn't make any sense. Sam knew enough to know that Lucifer's cage wasn't a _literal_ cage. His eyes must have been playing tricks on him.

_Maybe my mind is finally beginning to go_….

"Sam?" Adam spoke up. He sounded better than he had a moment before. "Do…do you see that?"

Sam rolled his head to look at him. The younger man was looking up at the cage. _Maybe I'm not cra_—

The chains holding them abruptly vanished and both he and Adam fell. They seemed to fall for a very long time before a rocky surface appeared beneath them. Sam landed on his side, sliding down what seemed to be an inclined wall before coming to a halt on a hard stone floor. Adam landed in a heap next to him.

Coughing up dust and gasping for air, Sam managed to haul himself up on his rubbery arms and legs. By all rights, he shouldn't have been able to move at all, after decades of being stretched and pulled apart on the rack, but he wasn't about to complain. Uncertain what was happening, Sam crawled over and helped Adam upright.

"What happened?" Adam asked between coughs.

"I dunno…" Sam looked around. The rough-hewn stone walls rose only a few feet over their heads. A tunnel stretched out before them, appearing to lead underground. Beyond, in the distance, he could see the immense pillars of fire that formed the huge cage around them. On the horizon, Sam saw two brilliant white beings, grappling with each other in combat.

Instinctively ducking, Sam turned to see if Adam could walk, but in the second that took him, their surroundings changed. They had moved, into the stone tunnel, it seemed. There was a stone ceiling above them now, like a cave, and in front of them stood the bases of two of the fiery pillars. They were too close together for a man to squeeze between.

"Well," Adam whispered, surveying the cave around them. "Maybe the demons won't find us for a while." He sounded relieved. Sam couldn't stop staring at the cage bars before them. Slowly, without thinking, he reached toward them.

"What are you doing?" Adam shouted, grabbing at what little ragged and bloody clothing still clung to Sam's arm. "Are you nuts?"

On some level, Sam figured that was funny, that Adam was worried about Sam burning his hand—in Hell. But, mostly, he couldn't shake a feeling of certainty that had settled over his mind. "It won't hurt us."

Adam looked at him incredulously. "It's fire, Sam. If…_all this_…has taught us anything, it should be that fire _burns_."

Sam just grinned at him. Serenity. That was a new feeling. Behind it, he knew he was right. He knew what they had to do. "Do you trust me?"

"Do I—? Of _course_, Sam," Adam said hesitantly, voice cracking a bit. "You're my brother. You've kept me _sane_ through all this. I don't know what I would have done if…" He broke off, looking away.

Sam reached out and gripped his shoulder. "It _won't hurt us_. I know how to get us out of here."

His younger brother looked up at him, and for a moment, Sam saw Dean reflected there, that same expression that said _this is the LAST thing I want to do_. Finally, Adam nodded. Sam pulled him close, wrapping his arm around the thinner shoulders, and stepped toward the blazing columns.

There was a flash of pain, an electric jolt that shot through their bodies like lightning. It was bad, but nothing like the agony they'd suffered for decades. Sam kept them moving, pushing ahead as the energy enveloped them. It was hard not to panic, but Sam pressed on until finally they exploded out the other side. They collapsed to the ground, catching their breath. Whatever reserves of strength they might have found when the rack released them had been completely sapped by the passage through the cage. All Sam wanted to do was curl up and die.

"H-how did you know to do that?" Adam asked, huffing.

Sam could only shrug helplessly. "I have…no idea. I just…_did_. Just like I know if we keep going up this tunnel, we'll find a way out."

Adam followed his gaze, looking doubtful, but he nodded weakly. They'd come this far. They helped each other up, having to use the cave walls to stay on their feet, and trudged ahead into the darkness.

00000

"Surely you aren't thinking of going down there."

Castiel looked up from the reflecting pool in the Garden. Joshua was strolling over from where he'd been tending the trees. The gardener stopped beside him, and watched Sam and Adam progress deeper into the cave in the image on the water's surface.

"That passage is difficult. They will need help."

"The boss _is_ helping them," the gardener chided, though not unpleasantly. "Do you think you could do better?"

Castiel frowned, cutting his eyes at the other being with more than a little irritation. He shook his head.

"Then why do you worry?"

"He's my _friend_, Joshua. It is…difficult to just stand by and do nothing."

"This is _Sam's_ test, Castiel. He has all he help he needs. It's up to him, now."

Castiel nodded reluctantly. "I just…wish I could help. That's all."

The old gardener smiled compassionately. "Then pray for him."

00000

Sam felt like they'd been climbing for years. Maybe they had. For the first time since falling into the Pit, he lost track of time. It was a glorious feeling, but given the trek he and Adam were undertaking, maybe it would have been nice to know how much time was passing. Or at least how much farther they had to go.

The tunnel had wound in circles until coming to a vertical shaft that stretched upward seemingly into infinity. The walls were stone, with enough outcroppings to allow for free-climbing, but it was an arduous journey. Sam was no stranger to free-climbing—he'd once climbed a seven-story elevator shaft in Chicago—but Adam was, which made it twice as hard on Sam, since he had to help his brother every step of the way.

He did the extra work gladly, but his exhausted muscles were having a hard enough time keeping him braced along the walls, let alone both of them. Sam wasn't about to leave his family behind, though. He'd learned his lessons about that long ago.

"Can you tell…how much farther?" Adam asked, breathing hard as he clung to the rocky handholds.

Sam looked up, squinting in the dim light filtering in from below. He couldn't see but a few yards up. It was getting harder to breathe in the enclosed space, and all the exertion wasn't helping. "No. But, it's a long way, I think."

Adam groaned, resting his head against one of the handholds. "Sam…I don't think I can do this."

"Yes, you can." Sam panted, bracing his bare feet on two of the ledges, so he could turn and look back at the younger man. Adam looked haggard, barely keeping his balance along the wall. Sam knew he didn't look any better.

The sharp rocks scraped and poked at their bodies as they climbed, ripping what little was left of their clothes and drawing blood. The climb was another form of torture, just like everything else. The brutal exercise was designed to make them give up.

Adam seemed to be there already. "Maybe—maybe you should go on ahead. I'll catch up when I can."

"No."

"Sam—"

"Hey!" Sam shouted. When Adam looked at him, Sam set his mouth in a thin line. "We go _together_, or not at all."

Adam frowned, but looked torn. "Sam, the demons have to know we're gone by now. If they find us, it'll be a hundred times worse…."

Sam nodded. "Then we'd better get going."

00000

The higher they climbed, the more difficult it became. The rocks, already sharp, were like razor blades further up. Moving became another form of torture. Their hands and feet were sliced open as they gripped the rough stone walls for dear life. As they neared what Sam prayed was the top of the tunnel, fierce winds began whipping past them, threatening to dislodge their tenuous positions.

Fortunately, they were nearing the top, and they could see sky. Whatever passed for a sky in Hell: a swirling maelstrom of oily black and red clouds with intensely bright lightning arcing in between. Sam wondered how much of what he was seeing was real, and how much his mind was creating to explain sights it didn't understand.

The fingertips on Sam's right hand had been ripped open—literally to the bone—but he clung onto the rocks as hard as he could. Adam was faltering, so Sam reached down and wrapped one arm around his back, trying to support his weight. It wasn't doing anything good for his own overtaxed body.

"Adam!" Sam shouted, trying to be heard over the wind. "Come on, man, I can't hold us both!"

His brother glanced up at him, and Sam feared for a moment that he was going to once again suggest that Sam leave him behind. Adam just nodded, though, and tried again to reach the next handhold. His hands were just as bloody and shredded, but the opening was just a few feet over their heads, and they could worry about their injuries later.

Sam braced himself as securely as possible against the side of the shaft, and waited for his younger sibling. Adam heaved himself up, almost to Sam's level, and reached up with his blood-smeared right hand to grasp the next rock.

The rock gave way as soon as his weight was on it. Adam lost his grip and fell. Sam reacted on instinct, faster than he would have thought possible under the circumstances. He threw his left hand out and managed to catch Adam's right wrist. It was hard to maintain, given slick blood coating his own hand. Adam had the good sense to bring his left hand back up and wrap it around Sam's sleeve—or the rags that used to be a sleeve.

The pain of trying to hold on with two shredded hands was bad enough. Adam's arm was as difficult to hold onto as the ledge Sam's right hand gripped so tightly. And, Sam's typical luck held. So many years stretched on the rack had left his joints loose and weak. Adam's weight popped his left shoulder out of its socket. Sam couldn't hold back the scream as the joint separated, but fought through the agony. He wouldn't let go.

"C-climb up m-my arm!" Sam wheezed, gasping through the pain as it threatened him with unconsciousness. Adam obeyed, and actually made decent progress. Each pull on his arm forced a cry out of Sam, but Adam was almost up to his shoulder. He'd get the kid on his back and they could finish the damned climb.

_You could let him fall._

Sam blinked at the voice in his head. It sounded so familiar. So— "Dean?"

His brother's voice was echoing softly in his head, clear despite the howling wind in his ears. It was the first time he'd really heard Dean's voice in a long time. He knew—somehow—that he wasn't hallucinating.

_He's holding you back. If the demons catch up, they'll make you suffer more than you've ever imagined, Sammy_.

"Dean…I can't do that."

_Let him go. Escape. Come home, Sam. He took the angels' side over ours, little brother. He made his choices, let him pay for them_.

Sam shook his head once, earning a perplexed look from Adam as the younger man strained to pull himself up Sam's injured arm. "I won't leave him."

_Why?_

"The same reason we didn't leave him to Zachariah, Dean. We're family."

The voice fell silent. Adam finally wrapped his arms around Sam's shoulders, then carefully braced his feet on a nearby ledge, relieving Sam of the extra weight. "What were you saying?"

Sam glanced at him, but didn't answer the question. He shook his head and forced a slight grin, despite the excruciating pain radiating through his arm and shoulder. "I'm…about sick of…this place. What about you?"

Adam laughed, genuinely. He dropped his forehead against the back of Sam's neck and nodded. "Thank you, Sam."

Not saying anything, Sam just looked over his rapidly numbing shoulder at the younger man. Looking after one's sibling had its own rewards…but Dean was right, it was different when you were the older brother. It gave him a reason not to give up himself. Sam nodded upward. "Can you see over the top?"

Taking a deep breath, Adam steadied himself against Sam's back and then pulled himself up to lift his head above the opening. A moment later, he sank back down. "Looks like the top of a mountain. I can't see very far out, though. There's too much haze."

Sam nodded. "Okay. You go first. I'm…gonna need a hand."

Adam patted him on his good shoulder in acknowledgement, then slowly made his way up and out of the shaft. He heaved himself over the edge with a deep, pained groan. Sam could sympathize. They were both nearing the end of their ropes.

Finally, Adam was settled above him. He stretched his hands down over the side. "Give me your hands!"

Sam tried, but his left arm was finished. "I can't move it! I…I think I can use my legs, though!"

Adam readjusted, gripping Sam's still functional right arm. Taking a deep breath, and praying Adam had enough energy left to do what came next, Sam released the rock and wrapped his bloody hand around Adam's. The younger man grabbed on with both hands. Sam lifted his feet onto a higher ledge and pushed himself up with his legs. It took a few minutes, and Sam's right shoulder was about give as well by the time he finished, but he gradually made his way up until his torso was lying on the rocky ground above.

Adam's equally abused joints didn't fair too well, one shoulder dislocating as he helped pull Sam up.

They collapsed on the mostly flat ground around the hole, lying on their backs and panting in the oppressively hot wind.

"I wonder where we are…." Adam yelled, head mere inches from Sam's, but his voice almost blown away by the gale.

"Anyplace is better than that," Sam shouted back, motioning weakly to the shaft they'd escaped.

"I'm impressed," a new voice broke in. Sam jackknifed into a sitting position, panic re-energizing him.

A bearded man dressed in all white sat on a boulder a few feet away, smiling happily at them.

"You could have just looked after yourself, but, even after everything you've been through, you still looked after your brother." The man continued, looking pleased. Sam noticed that he didn't raise his voice, but his words could still be heard clearly over the wind. He seemed familiar, and Sam wracked his brain trying to remember—

"Chuck?" Sam asked, the name finally connecting with the face.

The prophet smiled. "It's been too long, Sam. I'm happy to see you."

"Chuck…what are you doing here?" Sam asked, bewildered. It didn't make any sense.

Chuck didn't answer immediately, just stood and moved to stand over them. "All in good time, Sam. First, let's get you boys home."

He reached out and touched his fingers to Sam and Adam's foreheads. Sam didn't register anything after that.

TBC


	4. Chapter 4

_Here we are, the third way Sam came back…. _

00000

**IV.**

One moment, Sam was...somewhere, and the next he was standing on a sidewalk in front of a house.

Another moment went by before he realized he wasn't moving at all. Sam blinked. Once. Twice. His hands clenched and unclenched. _Whose house was this?_

A man and a woman were eating together, a small boy across the table. A family. They looked familiar, but— Sam blinked again, focusing on the man. He looked so... _Dean?_

"Dean?" Sam whispered as he collapsed, his back hitting something cool and hard. He vaguely registered the streetlamp pole against his back as he slid to the ground. He sat there, panting as the memories of Lucifer's possession washed over him like a tide. He remembered Lucifer confronting his brother Michael—in Adam—at Stull, Dean appearing, Castiel and Bobby dying gruesomely, Dean falling under his fists as Lucifer tried to beat him to death.

_Oh, he's in here, all right, and he's gonna feel the snap of your bones. Every single one! _

He dropped his head into his hands as the visceral images flooded through his mind. Dean's bloody face. The blood on his fists. It all would have been over if he hadn't seen—

Sam looked up. A few yards away, the Impala sat in the driveway, black paint gleaming in the glow of the moon and the nearby streetlights. Shakily, Sam struggled to stand, then half-walked, half-crawled to the Impala. He steadied himself on the sleek steel rear fender as he staggered to the passenger side. Sam leaned heavily on the car, peering into the dark back seat. There, just barely visibly in the moonlight, Sam could make out the small green shape of the old army man, poking up out of the ashtray.

At Stull, when Sam had all but given up trying to wrest control of his body away from Lucifer, his attention had been drawn to the Impala. The car had been Dean and Sam's home for as long as he could remember. They slept in motels and squatted in empty houses—but they _lived_ in the Impala. She was the only member of their family that had stuck with them through everything. A sturdy rock in the river of crap their lives had become. She had given Sam the strength to fight back and stop Lucifer from killing his brother.

Sam ran his hand over the cool metal of the roof. "Thanks."

A glint of light off the chrome caught his eye and he froze. The memories flowing through his consciousness twisted and changed. The glint of a razor. Ethereal lightning flashing all around him as he writhed and screamed on the rack. The glittering energy and smoke of demons in their natural forms. The eye-melting blast of light when Lucifer and Michael discarded their vessels—

"Ughhh..." Sam dropped his head to the roof of the Impala with an anguished cry, overwhelmed as it all came crashing back to him. Forty years of torture and enduring the demons' depraved games... He squeezed his eyes shut, trying to force the images and the phantom pains of all-too-recent torments away.

"Hey!" An indignant shout from somewhere on the other side of the Impala pierced the haze of the nightmarish flashbacks. "What are you—?"

The voice broke off, and the scuff of boots on the cement driveway skidded to a halt. Sam raised his head slowly, trying to shake off his painful reverie.

"Sam?"

Sam's eyes finally focused on the man who was creeping around the back of the car. When he saw the face, he whispered one word. It was a prayer that had gone unanswered many times the last four decades. "_Dean?_"

Dean stopped by the trunk. His face was a mix of joy and sadness, but tinged with suspicion and fear. "Sammy, is that you?"

A feeling of wholeness welled up inside Sam. He couldn't quite grasp it, but it was like a hole being filled. Something missing being returned. The sensation was so powerful it brought tears to his eyes. "Dean..."

He staggered forward just as Dean crossed the few yards between them and scooped him up into a ferocious hug. "Sammy!"

Sam sagged, wrapping his arms around his brother. It was like only one word occupied his brain, bubbling up through the memories of screams and pain. "Dean..."

"What— How are you here?" Dean asked, speaking into Sam's hair. Sam shook his head slowly.

"I...I don't know. One minute I was, uh—" _In Hell? Being cut to ribbons by demons?_ He wasn't sure how to finish the sentence. Sam began to shake as the memories continued to assault him behind his eyes. The flashbacks were getting worse. "A-and, um, the next I was out here."

Dean seemed to understand. He'd had a similar experience, after all. He patted Sam on the back. "Okay. It's okay, Sam. We'll figure it out later."

His brother released him, pulling back a bit but still holding Sam by his arms. "I can't believe it..."

"Me either," Sam breathed. "Um, can I—? I need to...sit down..."

"Are you okay?" Dean asked, fear of a different kind replacing the joy on his face. He dug his keys out and unlocked the car door, then guided Sam down onto the front seat.

"I...I think so, it's just...a lot to take in," Sam said shakily.

Dean knelt in front of him. "I'll bet. We should get you inside." He thought about it for a moment, then amended. "Let me go talk to Lisa first. She thinks you're— Um..."

Sam just nodded. "Yeah. Awkward. I know."

"Will you be okay out here? I'll just be a minute, I promise."

"It's okay," Sam breathed quietly. His vision seemed to be blurring around the edges. "I'll be okay. The hole's gone…I can't feel it, anymore."

Dean's unnerved voice cut through the feeling of contentment that was finally settling around him. "Sam…what?"

He blinked, eyes re-focusing on Dean. _What did I just say?_ "I'll be all right, Dean. Go on."

His brother gripped his shoulder for a long moment, then nodded and ran toward the house. Sam stayed seated, closing his eyes against the onslaught of images and sounds that came rushing back as soon as Dean left his field of vision. He groaned, sliding back against the seat, only vaguely registering the sound of the house's front door opening and closing in the distance.

00000

Sam had a chill he couldn't seem to shake. Dean watched his brother, wrapped up and shivering in a blanket on Lisa's couch despite the warm September air. His eyes were squeezed shut, but Dean knew he wasn't sleeping. The lights were turned down, though, in case that changed.

"I just can't believe it," Lisa whispered next to him. "Back from the dead, and he doesn't even have a scratch."

"Nothing we can _see_," Dean murmured, grimly. Sam seemed fine physically, but his eyes told another story. Sam claimed to remember nothing of the last few months, but whether he was dodging or it simply hadn't returned to him, yet, Dean didn't know. He knew from his own experience that a lot of it would come back gradually.

Hell wasn't something you _forgot_.

"Have you asked him about it, yet?"

"A little," Dean shrugged. "He's kinda jumbled up in the head right now. I didn't want to push."

"Well, I'm going to check in on Ben. Come get me if you need anything," Lisa said quietly. Dean leaned over and kissed her.

"Thanks."

When she left, Dean watched Sam a little longer, then stirred from his place by the door and stepped into the den. He made sure his boots made noise on the hardwood floor, not wanting to startle Sam.

His brother opened his eyes slowly, and fixed Dean with a stare as he dropped down onto the couch. "Hey."

"Still cold, Sammy?"

Sam nodded slowly, pulling the comforter tighter. "He wasn't lying about burning cold…."

Dean didn't have to ask who Sam was referring to. He changed the subject, not wanting to start prying into all that. Sam deserved a little rest, first. "You should try to sleep. I think Lisa has an electric blanket stashed somewhere. Might help."

"I, uh…" Sam faltered, stealing a glance at Dean. "I— Could I just stay here a minute? I'm just…I'm just so—"

"Hey, take your time, Sammy. There's no rush." Dean said, patting Sam's back.

They just sat for a few minutes, Dean watching Sam, Sam staring into the shadows, his expression growing more haunted. When Dean had built up enough courage, he broke the silence. "I— I _missed_ you, little brother. You have no idea…."

To Dean's surprise, a small smile broke out on Sam's face even as he closed his eyes again. "Me, too."

00000

Sam stayed on the couch, bundled beneath the comforter and Lisa's electric blanket. Dean lingered, stealing naps in chairs nearby, but checking on Sam periodically.

No nightmares, so far. That was good. Dean hoped.

Lisa had left around 7:00 to take Ben to school. Dean kept a quiet eye on Sam, who had finally settled and fallen asleep around 2:30 in the morning. Dean needed to call Bobby. He hadn't seen or spoken to the older hunter all summer, and wasn't sure how to begin. Bobby would certainly jump to the conclusion that Dean had made some deal.

_I wish I had_…. Dean couldn't help but feel like he'd betrayed Sam somehow, not trying to get him out of Hell himself. Sam had insisted, forced him to promise…but it wasn't that simple. Sam probably wouldn't blame him, but Dean still felt responsible.

The doorbell rang. Dean frowned, looking from the door, to Sam—who didn't rouse—and then to his watch. 8:05.

_Who the hell would be here this early?_

Or what. Dean tucked his handgun into his waistband, grabbed a flask of holy water off the end table, and headed over to the front door. He stayed carefully behind the salt line, and just inside the devil's trap painted under the rug.

He opened the door to find a man with an oddly happy expression plastered on his face, dressed in a Fed Ex uniform, holding a box. The delivery man was well-inside the trap Dean had concealed under the welcome mat.

"Dean Winchester? Am I disturbing you, sir?"

Dean was instantly suspicious. He hadn't added his name to any official papers. The house and address was in Lisa's name, and Dean was still legally dead. With a practiced smile, Dean shook his head and used a line he'd been waiting to use for weeks.

"No, not at all. Just watching The Count of Monte _Christo_ on cable."

The man didn't flinch, just nodded pleasantly. "Great movie, Mr. Winchester. I have a package for you."

He thrust the box forward. Dean took it hesitantly.

A pen and a receipt came next. "Please sign here, sir."

Dean sighed and scribbled a barely legible name on the ticket. The Fed Ex man tipped his hat and sauntered off down the walkway. Rolling his eyes, Dean started to close the door—but something bothered him. It took a second to click. No delivery truck in sight.

He turned and stuck his head out the door. The delivery man was no where in sight, and he hadn't heard a truck or car start. With a frown, Dean glanced down at the box, carefully turning it around and examining it. His eyes stopped on the return addressee.

Chuck Shurley.

"What the…?" Dean closed the door and placed the box on the coffee table. _At least that explains how they found me_. Didn't really explain the disappearing act, but….

Dean drew his switchblade and cautiously cut the tape open along the box's sides. Nothing jumped out at him. He found a large—very large—book inside, wrapped in plastic with a shipping receipt blocking view of the cover.

Grumbling, Dean stripped away the plastic and the paperwork to get a look at the book—and blinked.

_Supernatural: The Unabridged Anthology _

Looked like Chuck had published his books anyway, despite Sam and Dean's objections.

"Why the hell would he send me _this_?" Dean asked aloud. He'd lived it, he didn't need the prophet's transcripts. Out of a curiosity Dean didn't fully understand—or want to admit to—he opened the leather cover. The title page made him stop.

_Volume One: The First Test._

Dean's mouth dropped open. "_First_? Oh, hell no."

Something fell out of the book and hit the floor. Dean looked, finding a folded piece of white paper. Placing the heavy tome on the table, he bent down and retrieved the paper. It was a handwritten letter.

_Dean,_

_By now, I know you have a lot of questions. How did Sam get out? Why? Is Sam himself? Did Lucifer escape? I'm happy to tell you that the Devil is still in his cage. You don't have anything to worry about on that front. Lucifer won't be getting out again for a very, very long time._

_Sam, though, is another matter. It really is him; you don't need to worry about that. But, you were right, his Hell __was__ worse than yours. Lucifer and his minions made sure of that. _

_He's not showing it much right now, but they really did a number on him down there. You could say he was "tranquilized" before he was returned to you, but that'll wear off soon. When it does, Sam's going to need you Dean, more than ever. If anyone on Earth can relate to what he went through and the things he saw, I know it's you. Just do what you do best, and he'll be fine._

_The how he got back isn't important. As to the why, well, that has more than one answer. For starters, his work isn't done, yet. Neither is yours, Dean. _

_I know you don't want to hear that, but that's just the way it is. It's not fair, and I am sorry._

_You should also know that what Ash told you was true. There are such things as soul mates. Sometimes two souls just can't live apart from one another. The pain is too great. The hole created by the other's absence torments them. Separation drives them mad, and they'll do anything to get the other back. _

_I guess what I'm trying to say is, keeping you and Sam apart would have been cruel. _

_I wish I could tell you what's coming next. I wish it could be someone else's problem, but it's the price you pay for being the right men for the job. Goodbye, Dean._

_You friend,_

_Chuck_

_P.S. – About that "deadbeat Dad" crack you made in the Garden? Seriously man that hurt! I don't call __you__ names!_

Dean shook his head, rereading the letter a second time. His brain didn't want to wrap around it, but it really did sound like Chuck was—

"Dean?"

He dragged his eyes from the letter to find Sam at the doorway of the den. He was standing with his arms wrapped around his midsection, hunched over a little, but he'd shed the blankets.

"Morning," Dean mumbled.

"You okay?"

Dean grimaced. "Yeah, I guess. I was just reading this let—"

When he looked back at the paper, the words were gone. It was just a shipping receipt. Dean blinked, flipping the paper over. Chuck's words were gone.

"What is it?" Sam asked, slowly moving toward Dean.

"Uh," Dean shrugged, motioning to the book. "A gift from Chuck."

Sam moved to his side and watched Dean flip through the book. All the novels were inside, all one hundred and four of them. At the back of the book, there were several appendices, including two that chilled Dean's bones.

_Dean's Time in Hell._

_Sam's Time in Hell._

Beside him, he felt Sam stiffen. Dean glanced at him warily, remembering what the note had said about Sam's tranquilizer wearing off. But, Sam was simply frowning.

"Adam…."

"What?"

Sam turned to him, looking disoriented. "Adam, Dean. I don't know why I didn't think of it sooner. He was right next to me the whole time. I—I don't know what happened to him. I think he…." Dean watched Sam as he tried to wrack his brain. Sam shuddered. "He disappeared. One minute he was there, the next he wasn't. I—I don't know…."

Hefting the book in his hands, Dean nodded gravely. "Let's see if we can find out what happened."

END


End file.
